Twas the night before the attack on Adamant, and all through the camp, not a creature was stirring... save for the Commander, it seemed. Though the ladders were hung on the siege towers with care, if there was a problem, Cullen soon would be there. While soldiers and Templars nestled snug in their bedrolls, with a decisive victory their ultimate goal, the Commander in his armor, with Jim in tow, stalked through the night, restless to strike the first blow. At last Cullen admitted all was in place, and he dismissed Jim to his sleep with a sigh of ill grace.

His steps slowed as he neared his tent, weariness finally setting in now that he'd assured himself that the Inquisition forces were as ready as he could make them. Pushing through the flaps with a sigh, he slowly took off his mantle and set to work on removing his armor, placing it one piece at a time on his armor stand to be donned in the morning. As he unbuckled his breastplate, he heard a rustle as someone entered the tent, and sighed. "Report," he said as he turned, then straightened in surprise when he recognized his visitor. "Your Grace."

Hawke gave a deep chuckle as he stepped further into the tent. The laces at the throat of his tunic hung loose as if he'd dressed with haste, exposing a good portion of his upper chest. That, coupled with the studied balance in his movements and the small flask of something probably much stronger than wine, gave Cullen a hint of Hawke's state. "Commander. I see you haven't turned in for the night quite yet."

"Nor have you," Cullen observed as he heaved his breastplate over to hang on his armor stand before turning to face Hawke fully. Whatever reason had brought Hawke here, it definitely merited Cullen's full focus. Besides, Kirkwall was full of stories of Hawke in his cups, and few of them ended happily for all involved. "Is there something you needed?"

Hawke nodded and took a long drink as he moved to consult Cullen's miniature war table. "I had some thoughts on the fight at Adamant," he said as he shoved the flask into an inner pocket. "I take it we're still following Loghain's suggestion to attack at night?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Cullen moved to Hawke's side and tapped a marker resting on the hand-drawn additions to the map of the Western Approach, updated with their latest reports. "Here's our current position. The dunes keep us out of sight of those in Adamant. So far they seem ignorant of our proximity and the nature of our forces."

Reaching out, Hawke traced the distance from the first marker to the one denoting Adamant. "At the pace these trebuchets move, that means we'll need at least an hour or two to get them and the siege towers into position, won't it?"

"About that, yes. Moving them during the day would make it a bit too obvious what we're doing, so we'll use the cover of night as best we can. Vivienne and some of the Inquisition mages will use magic to obscure them further. Once they're in place..." Cullen flicked Adamant's marker onto its side. "The siege begins."

A calculating expression came to Hawke's face as he slowly righted the fallen marker. "And the Inquisitor will lead his group through the gate when it's breached?"

"That was the plan, Your Grace, yes." Cullen settled back on his heels. "I take it you have another idea?"

"The first attempt to breach the walls with ladders will be brutal, you know that," Hawke said as he straightened with care. "You'll need someone up there to lead the assault on the battlements and be the heavy hitter, but there aren't many up to the task." Tapping his chest, he said, "I nominate myself."

Cullen's eyebrows rose. "You want to go up the ladders?" He had to admit a grudging respect for the man to even suggest it, though he wondered how much was alcohol-fueled bravado. "It's a dangerous job, and you well know it."

"I can take care of myself," Hawke said with a careless shrug. "And once I'm up there, I can tackle the worst of the dangers while I wait for the Inquisitor to catch up with me."

"If it were anyone but you saying that, I'd call them foolishly arrogant," Cullen admitted.

"But it is me saying that, so you can just call me arrogant," Hawke said with a grin.

"Perhaps not even that. I have seen you fight, Your Grace. We may have our disagreements-"

"Oh, that's putting it mildly," Hawke said with a snort.

Scratching his forehead for a moment, Cullen said, "Fair enough. I don't think we'll ever be friends, Your Grace, but we've proven in the past that we can work together effectively regardless of personal prejudice."

"Precisely, Commander." Hawke offered his hand to Cullen. "For the good of this mission, to end the threat of the demon army, and to stick it to that bastard Corypheus, I hope to do so again."

For a moment, Cullen hesitated as he searched Hawke's face, half-wondering if this were some sort of trick. Finally he nodded and grasped Hawke's forearm. "We will, Your Grace."

Abruptly Hawke pulled Cullen towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. This close, Cullen could tell just how heavily Hawke had been hitting the bottle before coming to Cullen's tent, and wondered if that was the only reason Hawke had come here at all. "Promise me," Hawke said intently, "that no matter what happens come tomorrow, you will ensure the Inquisitor stays safe."

"Such is my duty, Your Grace," Cullen said a trifle stiffly.

"I'm not asking you to do this as his Commander, Cullen," Hawke told him with an edge to his voice. "I'm asking you to do this as his friend."

The ferocious intensity of Hawke's gaze and the tightness of his grip made Cullen shift uncomfortably. "Why does that matter to you?"

"I don't need to tell you that," Hawke said, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. "I just want you to promise."

"But why?" Cullen asked. "You've never been-" He paused, unsure how to continue without insulting the man.

"Sentimental?" Hawke suggested dryly. Releasing Cullen's arm, he stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest. "Perhaps. I had little time for frivolity in Kirkwall. If it wasn't a blood mage causing trouble, then it was a power hungry noble, or the Qunari running amok, or a dwarf begging for help, or the Knight-Commander slowly going insane. I didn't have time for nice."

"That was abundantly clear, yes," Cullen muttered.

"Not that you were much help," Hawke pointed out. "To you, everything was blood magic and the only good mage was either dead or in chains. I wonder what you would have made of the Inquisitor back then."

Caught off-guard by the attack, Cullen flushed and reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Knight-Commander Meredith-"

"-was not you," Hawke interrupted. "Forget her. Own your mistakes, man. Maker knows we both committed far too many of them."

That comment gave Cullen pause, and he regarded Hawke with narrowed eyes. "You don't often admit you made any."

"I'd be a fool to believe it, though. Oh, I might swan about Kirkwall without seeming to have a care in the world, but I know what I did. I know precisely whose blood is on my hands." As he spoke, Hawke removed his gloves and tucked them into his belt, then studied his scarred hands with a glare as if he intended to cut them off. "Friends, foes, even family. It's all here, mixed together in one huge crimson stain that will never go away." With a sound of frustration, he balled them into fists and stepped closer, meeting Cullen's gaze without flinching. "And you're blind if you don't see the same thing on yours."

Cullen felt the words like a blow on his chest, almost gasping as their weight hit him hard. After a moment of silence, he wrenched his gaze away from Hawke, finding it difficult to maintain the link. "You always know precisely where to strike, don't you?"

A sneer came to Hawke's face a moment before he barked a laugh. "They don't call me the Champion because I excel at macramé and fart unicorn dust."

Crude as the comment was, it did lessen the tension between them as Cullen gave him a reluctant chuckle. "True. But what does any of that have to do with the Inquisitor?"

"Don't you see? No. No, you don't, I suppose." Hawke sighed and rubbed his jaw with one hand. "Tell me, when you exchanged your vows of love with Inquisitor Lavellan, did it help to put some of your old ghosts to rest? Knowing that someone like her saw something worthwhile in someone like you?"

Again caught by surprise, Cullen instinctively leaned back. He never would have framed his relationship with Mailani in such a way, but once Hawke had voiced it... Again, the words hit hard and true. Finally he said, "Mailani was a remarkable person." It was all he could manage given the circumstances.

"As I thought of Anders, once upon a time," Hawke said. "A man of principle, a man of honor, or so I believed. He wore his fingers to the bone in that Darktown clinic of his, helping the poor and the lost abandoned by those in power. He saw the farce of the Wardens, the hypocrisy of the Templars, and the injustice of the Circles, and he rejected them all." Hawke's gaze grew distant as he spoke. "Yet he had a darkness within, one which grew stronger as the years went by, and in the end I barely recognized him."

Cullen simply stared, struck by the stark contrast between the Hawke he thought he knew and the man standing before him. It didn't excuse Hawke's actions-he doubted the man could say anything that would justify what he had done to Fenris or, worse, his own sister-but Cullen had to admit to a certain sympathy. Not enough to forgive him, perhaps, but then, had Cullen himself earned forgiveness, or simply been gifted it?

"Was I wrong, Cullen?" Hawke abruptly asked in a choked whisper, a haunted expression coming to his face. "Was I wrong to kill Anders?"

Cullen swallowed harshly. He couldn't deny that, at the time, he'd thought Anders' death was more than justified given the nature of his actions. Yet Cullen was no longer the man he had been in Kirkwall, and he'd also found a love of his own, however briefly they'd been together. To even think of taking her life with his own hand, no matter the justification… After struggling with his answer for a few moments, he finally said, "Perhaps it might have been more prudent to stay your hand until-"

"-until I knew more about the situation?" Hawke's jaw rippled. "Therein lies the rub. Loghain was right, damn him." Hawke stared at the lantern light as it guttered for a moment, then shook his head. "Be that as it may... For a time I hoped that Dorian might come to view me as your Mailani saw you, as I had seen Anders, but I would have needed to be a man worthy of him, wouldn't I? Instead, it's been made abundantly clear that I am not. I may not like it, but even I can see the runes writ large eventually."

And again, Cullen did not know how to respond to that - at least, not without a direct insult. He kept his silence, unsure where Hawke was going with this conversation.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking since we left Skyhold, a lot of fighting with… with myself, you might say. And I realized there is some blood I don't want on my hands after tomorrow if-" Hawke's voice faded as he stared at his hands again, his fingers curling and relaxing. Finally he looked up and met Cullen's gaze as he reached out and grasped the other man's shoulder, squeezing almost to the point of pain. "This is me stepping aside, Cullen," he said, an expression coming to his face that Cullen would have considered vulnerable on anyone else. "Promise me that no harm will come to the Inquisitor, either tomorrow, or thereafter."

Cullen studied Hawke's face for a long moment, almost hypnotized by Hawke's stare, and finally nodded. "I promise."

Hawke's eyes closed and he let his head fall back for a moment before he abruptly released Cullen and turned away. "I'll hold you to that, Commander."

"Good," was all Cullen could say. As Hawke moved to leave, however, Cullen abruptly called out, "Hawke!"

The man paused, then half-turned to look at Cullen over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Maybe after this is all over we could get a drink," Cullen said. "It sounds like you've never told anyone your side of the story."

"No, I haven't." For a moment, that odd sense of vulnerability flashed across his face once more, but the impression quickly faded when he shook his head and grinned at Cullen. "And there's a damned good reason for that." In the next moment, even the smile vanished as he barked, "Now get some sleep, soldier! We have a battle to fight."

"Yes, Your Grace," Cullen replied automatically, saluting Hawke as he left the tent. When he was gone, Cullen collapsed onto his sleeping cot and stared at the ceiling of his tent for a long, long time. Sleep, it seemed, would not be an easy pursuit.

The next morning, his conversation with Hawke seemed almost to be a dream. He was half-convinced it had been a dream, save for the fact that Hawke seemed different somehow, a difference large enough for others to notice.

"Something's wrong with Hawke," Varric muttered at one point as he stood next to Cullen near the trebuchets, which were in the process of getting muffled with cloth so that those in Adamant wouldn't see glinting metal or hear creaking wood. "He's acting almost… nice to me."

"I take it that's unusual?" Cullen asked with a chuckle.

"Damn right it is," Varric grunted. "You may not have noticed, but Hawke and I had a falling out about, oh, an hour after we met."

Cullen's eyebrow rose. "But you were friends with him for years, I thought."

"We had our ups and downs, sure," Varric said. "With Hawke, the ups are really up. He helped me with my brother, didn't ask questions when I needed something done that was a little on the shady side, and he did save Kirkwall. I might not like how he did it, but I'll give him that." With a frown, Varric looked across to where Hawke was talking quietly with Loghain. "But the downs? You talked with Aveline. You know how bad he could get when they happened."

"I think I saw it a time or two myself. Remember when I first met him," Cullen reminded him.

"Oh. Yeah." Varric grimaced. "I left out most of that argument in the book."

"Can't have the hero look too much like a villain," Cullen muttered.

Varric shrugged. "Something like that. Cassandra really wanted Hawke to be a hero, but… well, he's the Champion, not a nice guy."

"Trust me, heroes aren't all they're cracked up to be, either," Cullen said darkly.

Varric glanced at Cullen for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I got that impression after listening to Alistair talk about the Hero of Ferelden a few times. And I thought I had it rough when Hawke was in a bad mood." He shuddered.

Looking down at Varric in surprise, Cullen said, "I didn't realize you'd spent much time with him. Alistair, I mean."

"Oh, not in Skyhold. Not more than a few games here and there, anyway. He's smart enough not to gamble money with me." Giving Cullen a subtle nudge, he said, "He's too busy coaxing the Nightingale into song."

A smile came to Cullen's face. "I'm glad, honestly. They both deserve someone to be with, I think, after all they've been through."

"Tell me about it," Varric grunted.

"So how do you know Alistair so well, if not Skyhold?" Cullen asked curiously. "You never spent much time with him in Kirkwall that I ever saw."

Varric's brows drew together for a moment. "Isabela hired me for a caper a year or two after Hawke and I parted ways," he said in a quiet voice, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening. "She had a couple of passengers who were on a daring mission, and thought I'd be up for an adventure. Guess who one of her passengers was?"

Cullen blinked. "Alistair?"

"The very same." Varric looked around once more before he went on. "He'd gotten some interesting information and wanted to investigate. I gathered that the Wardens weren't too happy with him at the time, but let him go as long as he brought a chaperone with him."

After a moment's consideration, Cullen's eyes widened. "Loghain?"

"Precisely. It turned out to be a bit more exciting than we anticipated, but… well, the details are kind of private. Suffice it to say that the two Wardens were a lot closer at the end of the caper than they were at the beginning, and a lot more somber. It was something they both needed to experience, even if it didn't make them happy. Damnedest thing I've ever seen, but there you have it." Varric shrugged. "At any rate, by the time we got back to Orlais, they were almost acting like father and son. Not that I was surprised, considering what happened."

"An adventure with you, Isabela, Alistair, and Loghain?" Cullen said in a musing tone. "And it hasn't made its way into a book? They must be holding something over you."[1]

Varric chuckled and patted Cullen's arm. "And if they are, I'm certainly not telling you about it. Anyway, that's how I know Alistair. And why he's learned not to bet money in a card game against me. Mostly because he doesn't have any after the last time we played cards together on Isabela's ship."

Cullen laughed. "An excellent reason, Varric."

"Oh, Varric never has excellent reasons, just extraordinary excuses," a new voice said from behind them.

Turning, Cullen smiled at the newcomer. "Inquisitor."

"Sparkler," Varric said, looking him up and down. "I see you're well muffled."

Dorian looked down in distaste at the cloth covering his usually bright and sparkly armor. "Loghain insisted. I feel like an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. I hope I don't have to run while like this. I fear I'd fall over after a few steps, and then how would I protect the dignity of the Inquisition?"

"Like you always do, Sparkler: badly," Varric said with a grin.

With a gasp, Dorian pressed his hand to his padded chest. "Are you casting aspersions upon my person, my good dwarf?"

"Hey, as long as you owe me those five sovereigns, I get to say whatever I want about you. You should have thought of that before you lost big to a writer, you know," Varric added. "It's a good thing you've got Nightingale on your side, or tales of your card woes would be told from coast to coast."

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Varric," Dorian complained. "I was wondering, though, if I might borrow your conversational companion for a moment?"

"Curly? Sure." Varric nodded to Cullen and then to Dorian once more. "You should help him cover up his armor. Or at least the part his rug doesn't reach."

'It's not a rug!" Cullen insisted as Dorian laughed merrily.

"Whatever you say, Curly, whatever you say," Varric said with a wink, then turned and strolled away.

Cullen turned to find Dorian looking at him critically. "You are a bit shiny," he noted. "We should get all your armored bits covered, don't you think? Before Loghain comes over and scowls at you, too."

"That does seem to be a particular talent of his," Cullen noted as he looked at the sky to gauge the time, and found that sunset was almost upon them. "Let's go to my tent. It will be getting taken down soon, I'd imagine." Gesturing Dorian to follow, he led them there, giving a few orders here and there as they went. Once they were inside, he began rummaging through his storage chest. "What did you need, Inquisitor?"

"Hawke came and talked to me this morning," Dorian said in a subdued tone.

Cullen's hands froze in the act of pulling out a roll of dark cloth meant to cover his table for eating. "What did he say?"

"It was a deucedly odd conversation," Dorian mused. "He apologized, for one. Hawke never apologizes. Said he'd pushed too hard and too fast, and wanted to let me know that he could, in fact, take no for an answer."

"That does sound unlike him," Cullen said as stood with the cloth in hand. "But not wholly unexpected. We had a talk last night, he and I."

Dorian's brows rose. "I thought you two never got along."

"Not that you'd notice, no," Cullen admitted. "But last night was an exception. It was almost like he was expecting something to happen during the battle."

"To him?" Dorian asked.

Cullen paused. He hadn't meant it in that way, but now that Dorian mentioned it… "I… Perhaps. Mostly he just wanted to emphasize my duties to me." At Dorian's quizzical look, Cullen explained, "He made me promise to make sure that nothing would happen to you during the battle or after."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Well, of course you wouldn't. You're my Commander. That's against your job description, or some such."

"Which I told him, but he wanted something a bit more emphatic than that." Cullen gave a little shrug as he began to wrap the cloth around his armor. "Besides, I'd protect you regardless. I've broken too many promises to those I care about. I won't break a promise to you."

Dorian canted his head slightly as he smiled at Cullen. "Those you care about?"

"Yes," Cullen said, a bit distracted as he tucked the cloth in on itself and tugged it here and there to muffle any sounds.

"So you care about me, then."

Cullen glanced up at him. "You're my friend," Cullen said, surprised it needed to be said. "Of course I care about you."

"I suppose I just never heard anyone say it aside from Mailani. When she wasn't twitting me about my mustache, at least," he added, reaching up to lightly brush his finger along said offending facial hair.

Cullen's eyes followed the motion, then dropped to consider Dorian's lips for a moment before he jerked them up to meet the other man's gaze. "Why would she tease you about that?"

"Most likely she teased me about that the way she teased you about your hair," Dorian said with a wink. "Something about the vanity of shems, or some such."

"Ah. Right," Cullen said with a laugh. "That does sound like her." He pointed to his table. "Those cloths there. We can put those over my vambraces, I think."

With a nod, Dorian retrieved one and shook it out. "Hold up your arms," he told Cullen. "I'll do the wrapping."

Obediently Cullen raised his arms and waited, watching as Dorian worked at concealing the vambrace from any errant light. This close, he was able to smell the subtle musky scent of Dorian's hair, and instinctively leaned closer. "I wonder what she would make of our friendship," he said after a few moments. "She always was fond of calling us her new clan."

"Yes, the Inquisition clan, I remember." Dorian looked up at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "I wager she'd be quite pleased, if a bit surprised. I'm not the best at making new friends, in case you didn't notice."

"We have had some rough spots, didn't we?" Cullen said with chuckle.

"Well, Commander, most people usually don't shove others into walls quite as hard as you did if they're friendly."

Cullen ducked his head in shame at the memory. "I'm sorry for that."

"I won't deny I would have preferred an entirely different reason for you to press me into the nearest wall," Dorian admitted. "But we're certainly beyond you threatening to throw me out on my blushing buttcheeks, so I'd say we've progressed."

"Cassandra would have kicked me to Val Royeaux and back," Cullen groaned. "And I don't even want to think about what Bull would have done."

"Bull? Why Bull?" Dorian asked as he retrieved the second cloth and moved to work on Cullen's other arm.

"Ah," Cullen paused as a fresh whiff of scent caught his nose, and forcibly cleared his throat. "Because of how close you are."

"Ah. There are rumors about he and I, I take it?" Dorian sighed and shook his head. "He is a good friend, though."

"So you're not…" Cullen started, then let his voice trail off.

"No. Or rather, only insofar as I've also been with Hawke. Thankfully Bull is a trifle more laid back about the whole affair," Dorian mused as he performed his task. "He's vigorous, certainly, but he's also just a friend." He smiled at Cullen. "Like you."

Cullen swallowed, trying very hard to avoid thinking about what Dorian meant by vigorous. "Right. Like me." The words sounded strained, and he fell silent as Dorian tucked the edge of the cloth under the end of his vambrace.

"There we are," Dorian said with a pat of his hand. "All muffled and covered." Stepping back, he frowned as he looked Cullen up and down. "What about your greaves? Those are still exposed."

The thought of Dorian kneeling in front of him to wrap something around his legs made a shiver run down Cullen's spine, and he quickly moved back to his cot. "That will be easier to do myself, I think," he said as he tugged the wraps from around his pillows and sat down to put them on.

"Well, at least the rug won't need to be muffled," Dorian noted. "It's like having a built-in muffler."

"It's not a rug," Cullen repeated between grated teeth.

"Ah. Pardon me, then." Dorian reached out to touch the fur, twining his fingers through it as he played with it. As he did so a flicker of green awoke in his palm. "Oh, stop that," he told it absently. "It is softer than I expected, actually. What animal is it from again?"

Cullen stared at Dorian's hand as it toyed with the fur, struck by how familiar the motion seemed. "Ah, animal? Yes, um, bear. Great bear, actually."

"Oh, good. I've never met a great bear I'd invite home to meet the family, and if you knew my family, you'd know what a deadly insult that was," Dorian said with a chuckle. "I suppose there's some sort of heroic tale to go along with the acquisition of this fur?"

Lips curving in a half-smile, Cullen said, "I was cold."

Eyebrow rising skeptically, Dorian asked, "That's it? You were cold?"

"Isn't that enough?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, I see, Commander. You're trying to tease me." Pulling his hand away, Dorian waggled his finger at Cullen. "That won't work, you see. I'm far too wise to your ways."

"Are my ways so very devious?" Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dorian tilted his head as he considered Cullen. "Perhaps not, Commander. This time, at least. Who knows what the future will bring, hmm?"

Cullen's brows drew together, the words triggering something in him. Perhaps it was because they were on the cusp of a battle, perhaps it was Hawke's visit the previous night, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Regardless, he suddenly stood and set his hands on Dorian's shoulders. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish," he said softly.

"Foolish? Me?" Dorian asked, blinking a few times. "I didn't realize there were alternatives."

"Please, Inquisitor," Cullen said earnestly. "Be cautious. The Inquisition can't afford to lose another Inquisitor." He hesitated, then added softly, "I can't lose another Inquisitor."

"Is your sense of duty so very stern, Commander?" Dorian asked mock-seriously.

"You're my friend, Dorian," Cullen said, using the name deliberately. "I don't want to lose you."

Dorian swallowed visibly, the bump of his throat dancing up and down. When he spoke, there was a slight tremor in his voice. "Ah. Well. I shall strive not to disappoint you, then."

"Good." Cullen squeezed Dorian's shoulders, searching for something else to say and failing to find anything. "Good," he repeated, then stepped back, suddenly feeling a trifle awkward.

Clearing his throat, Dorian looked around the tent. "Ah, well, I'm sure there are all sorts of little pre-battle rituals you need to attend to. I didn't mean to take up quite so much of your time."

Cullen chuckled as he sat down to wrap his legs tight. "You're always welcome in my tent, Inquisitor," Cullen told him. The moment the words left his lips and Dorian's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, Cullen groaned and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I meant- I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry, Commander," Dorian assured him. "I won't presume too much from those fascinating words. I should probably go myself. I promised Vivienne my aid with maintaining the illusion spells to hide us from sharp eyes in Adamant. It will be good to speak with her. She is an erudite woman, after all, and a most stimulating conversationalist."

"As opposed to me," Cullen asked with a grin, the blush mostly gone.

"Oh, it's not your conversation I value the most, Commander," Dorian said with a grin which could only be called wicked.

"Maker's breath," Cullen groaned as the heat returned to his cheeks.

Laughing lightly, Dorian bowed elegantly to Cullen. "Until later, my friend. I look forward to comparing notes about the battle. I may not be as strategically sound as you, but I like to think my tactical knowledge is less abysmal."

Cullen smiled at that, remembering some of their conversations over the last few months. "I'd rate it quite a bit above abysmal, but we can discuss that later." He met Dorian's gaze as he turned serious. "Take care, Inquisitor."

"And you, Commander," Dorian said softly. Without another word, he turned and left the tent.

With a sigh, Cullen finished wrapping his legs, then stood. He still had a battle to fight - and win.

The moment between his first shouted order and when the first barrage of stone hit the walls of Adamant seemed almost silent in Cullen's head. The rush of blood and the beating of his heart: those far outweighed the whistling of the wind and the creak of the trebuchets. He craned his head to watch the boulders fly through the air with lethal grace, lips parted as he waited for the planning of the last few weeks to finally make the move from markers on a table to boots on the ground.

Once those stones hit the walls of Adamant, however, his senses woke with a vengeance. Even as the cheer from his soldiers rose into the air at the first real blow struck at the enemy, he barked orders, goading the troops into motion. "We haven't won the battle yet! Get moving or you won't get to celebrate!" As they quickly fell into place and started their advance on Adamant, Cullen paced through the ranks to make sure all parts of the Inquisition Forces were in place as needed, using his own shield when necessary to defend against the missiles of the foes within the fortress.

As the ladders began to rise and the rams closed in on the ancient gates, he finally fell back and studied the distribution of his troops from a more distant vantage point. He winced when he saw the first of his troops knocked from the top of the walls, but knew it was only to be expected.

"No commander likes to watch his troops perish," a quiet voice said from one side, and Cullen turned to find Warden Loghain standing nearby. "I've been in my share of battles, and I've my share of regrets, yet it's still a punch in the gut to see a soldier fall, never to rise."

Cullen gave Loghain a measuring glance. Loghain's reputation, at its most charitable, could best be described as mixed, with the source of information being a large determinant of whether it was good or bad. For the moment, he reserved his judgment, since Cullen knew he was the last man who should judge another for questionable decisions in his former life. "That's a good way to describe it."

Loghain's face was pensive as his gaze swept the battle. "I daresay neither of us are the sort to sit at our ease under a pavilion on a hill during battle. We were trained to fight, to feel the rhythm of the battle in our swords, not through messengers." He glanced at Cullen, grey eyes keen. "And we've both overcome our fair share of personally treasured prejudice, haven't we? You command on behalf of a mage, and I fight to save as many as I can amongst my Orlesian brethren. Fate has an odd way about her sometimes."

"That she does, Warden," Cullen said with a dry chuckle, then turned to look ahead as the first sound of the ram striking the gate echoed across the battlefield. "I should go."

"As should I," Loghain said with a nod, then secured his helm into place. "Each one of those demons means a brother or sister of mine has been murdered. I can think of no greater reason to strike them down with a vengeance. Good luck, Commander Cullen."

"And you, Warden Loghain," Cullen responded, already setting into motion towards the gate with his shield held high to deflect the stones of the defenders above. He wanted to be there when Dorian and the others passed through to begin their targeted infiltration.

When the gates finally burst open, he heard the shout from above ordering the Wardens to fall back. Rushing through the remnants of the gate, he sought out Dorian, easy to spot by now that his buckles had been freed to shine in the torchlight, and hurried towards him. "All right, Inquisitor, you have your way in. Best make use of it. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

Dorian gave him a wry grin. "There's a worrying lack of specificity there, Commander. I do hope you're not trying to get me worried, are you?"

Cullen flushed slightly. "There are more of them than I was hoping, Inquisitor. Loghain's numbers don't quite match up, so either there are more mage Wardens than we suspected, or they learned how to summon more demons than one per dead Warden. Either way, it's not good."

"You don't say?" Dorian drawled. "I'll keep that in mind for when I need more blindingly obvious information." Face growing serious, he said, "Do what you can, Commander. I trust you to keep me as safe as you can. That's what friends are for, yes?"

"Yes." Friends. Yes, one of his true, dear friends. After a moment, he realized he was staring at Dorian and quickly straightened. "Alistair will ward you as best he can. Keep to the plan, and look for Hawke with our soldiers on the battlements. He's assisting them until you arrive."

His words were interrupted by a scream from above, and they both turned in time to see an Inquisition soldier get tossed from the heights above by a demon. Cullen made a sound of frustration. "There's too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear up the enemies-"

"I plan to," Dorian said with uncommon sobriety. The earlier levity seemed to have vanished with the sight of the soldier falling to his doom, and Dorian's face was now a mask of concentration. "You do what is necessary here, Commander, and I assure you it won't be in vain." Turning, he barked orders to those with him and moved forward, staff already moving with a deadly purpose.

Cullen watched Dorian head deeper into Adamant with a frown, then sighed. He had his own work to do. Returning to his troops, he lost himself in the rhythm of the battle. The demons added an inhuman factor which required faster, more risky tactics, but he was not Templar-trained for nothing, and made sure to employ the Inquisition's Templar allies with pinpoint precision.

After one particularly nasty sortie against a cluster of Pride demons, he found himself panting in recovery next to a familiar face. "Ser Barris," he said with a short nod. "Your Templars are proving their worth today."

Barris chuckled breathlessly as he gave Cullen a salute. "Tell us where you need us, and we will be there, Commander. The Templars support the Inquisition."

Cullen grasped one of the Templar's arms and nodded. "Keep watch on this quadrant. There seem to be more Pride demons here than the others."

"Yes, Commander." Barris turned and began barking orders, leaving Cullen free to go to another part of the battle.

As Cullen headed back to the gates, since that was where visibility of all the activity around Adamant was clearest, he saw a familiar figure ahead of him and increased his speed. A couple of rocks bounced off his shield, but nothing too exciting, and he reached Loghain without incident.

"Commander," Loghain greeted him. "The number of assailants on the battlements has lessened."

Cullen nodded. "Yes, I noticed that our towers and ladders aren't getting pushed off as frequently now. It appears as if the Inquisitor is as good as his word." At Loghain's questioning eyebrow, he added, "I asked him to deal with some of the forces up there once he joined up with Hawke."

With a grunt of acknowledgment, Loghain said, "Whatever my opinion of Hawke, he has proven himself a formidable fighter." Before Cullen had a chance to ask about that peculiar way of phrasing it, he said, "This would be an excellent time for me to go into Adamant, then. There may be some Wardens I could convince to lay down their arms, especially if the tide of battle is turning against them."

Glancing towards the shattered gates, Cullen nodded slowly. A nagging feeling of danger kept prodding him, as well as the odd encounter with Hawke in his tent the night before. Take care of the Inquisitor in case of what? The question had been nagging him ever since, deep in the recesses of his mind, and as Loghain turned to leave, Cullen abruptly reached out to set his hand on Loghain's arm. "I'm coming with you."

Loghain turned in surprise. "I thought-"

"They don't need me out here," Cullen pointed out, as much for his own benefit as Loghain's. "Cassandra and Blackwall are here for the Inquisition forces, Knight-Commander Barris leads the Templars, and all the plans now depend on what happens inside. And…" He frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this. Call it instinct if you like, or my bump of trouble, but I just feel like something is going to happen to them." And losing him is not an option.

For a long moment, Loghain simply stared at him, then sighed and shook his head. "Very well, Commander. But if we run into any Wardens, let me do the talking, hmm?"

"Agreed, Warden Loghain," Cullen said quickly.

"I'll take the lead. I studied those maps longer than you did," Loghain added before pivoting and moving towards the gates once more.

Cullen followed after him, ducking through the gate from the inner bailey to avoid the fire burning along the top of its frame. Within, they found plenty of evidence of fighting in the wake of the Inquisitor and those with him: piles of ashes, scorch marks on the walls, and crossbow bolts, among other things. "It looks like they came through this way," he called.

"It appears so, Commander." As they moved through the fortress, Loghain's turns were quick and decisive, up until they reached a closed door. Loghain frowned and pointed to a broken door leading to a staircase. "This door is the quickest way to the inner courtyard, but it appears they went to the battlements instead."

"Perhaps the door was barred?" Cullen suggested, just as Loghain tried to push it.

"It would appear you are correct. Still, something hit it hard."

"Bull," Cullen said without hesitation. "He hits everything hard."

Loghain smiled at that. "Very true. Perhaps we can force it open. It would save us a good few minutes."

"I'm willing to try if you are," Cullen agreed, getting into place next to Loghain.

The man proved to be stronger than Cullen had anticipated, and after a few grunts of effort and strong kicks and shoves, the door suddenly popped open. "There we are," Loghain said in satisfaction. Pointing ahead, he said, "And there's the a door leading to the inner courtyard, where Warden-Commander Clarel will gather everyone for the ritual they think will save them." His face grew hard. "I'd rather make sure it doesn't happen."

Cullen nodded, face grim as he settled his sword back in his hand. "Then let's go."

The door emerged not into the courtyard proper, as it turned out, but to a balcony overlooking it. Cullen raced forward, taking in the scene below as he strained his eyes to look for the Inquisitor. "There," he said, pointing down to where Dorian was standing at the edge of a group of Wardens.

"And there's Erimond, Corypheus' sycophant," Loghain said, pointing to another place above the other Wardens. "And Warden-Commander Clarel. So he hasn't killed her, at least."

"There is a dead Warden up there, though," Cullen said grimly, pointing to the body lying ceremoniously on a trestle table. "Can you tell if Erimond's taken control of Clarel yet?"

"It does not appear so," Loghain said as he surveyed the scene. "It seems the Inquisitor is still trying to sway her, which he would not be able to do if the Magister had done so."

"Then we're not too late," Cullen breathed.

Loghain laid a hand on Cullen's arm and pointed to a group of Wardens gathering in a circle in the center of the courtyard. "Be cautious of an early celebration, Commander. Those Warden mages do not move as I remember. I daresay they belong to Corypheus already."

Cullen's face darkened. "How do we get down there?" he asked. "I don't see any stairs."

"Let me consider." Loghain's steely gaze swept over the courtyard, then grunted. "We'll have to go back and find another way. Perhaps-"

"Wait! Something's happening," Cullen said, pointing towards the Warden mages.

Loghain sighed and shook his head. "And so it begins," he said sadly.

Cullen nodded, but kept his eyes locked on what the mages were doing. The bright green light of a rift caught him off guard before he saw movement through the opening. "Maker. They're trying to pull a demon through the rift!" Cullen fixed his gaze on the roiling green energy and the demon lurking beyond, mind whirling. It wasn't a large opening, and the view was distorted by his vantage, but he would know that demon anywhere. "Hessarian's Blade of Mercy. I've seen that demon before."

Loghain's eyebrows rose. "The one they wish to summon?" He squinted, obviously trying to see it more clearly. "It's quite… large, whatever it is."

"I saw it in a dream," Cullen told him. "Well. Nightmare, really, and yes, it's every bit as monstrous as you can imagine. If they manage to bring it through… Wait. They're talking again."

Both men fell silent as they strained to hear what was being said below.

"I don't want to kill you," Dorian was telling the Wardens. "But you're being used. Surely some of you must suspect something!"

One of the Wardens, dressed in rogue leathers and with a dagger at each hip, suddenly stepped forward. "The mages who've done the ritual? They're not right. They were my friends, but now…" He turned to look at the Wardens behind him, particularly the mages, who simply stood there. "They're like… puppets on a string."

Clarel stepped to the edge of her platform. "You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!" she called down.

Hawke's voice rose above all others as he stepped forward, a grim look on his face. "He's not afraid, Warden-Commander. You are. You're afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing. Why else would you hesitate?"

"Listen to me!" Alistair said, stepping forward. "You all know who I am. You all know that I was there, in Ferelden, during the Fifth Blight, and you all know that I failed my duty. I have been trying regain my honor as a Warden ever since, and you all know how hard I have fought to live up to my mentor Duncan's example." Cullen saw a wave of nodding heads and even expressions of sympathy as Alistair continued. "More than that, you know who is aiding me. Loghain Mac Tir stood where I could not, facing down the Archdemon at the very end of the Blight. Perhaps he didn't strike the final blow, but he was there when the Archdemon fell. He was there when I was not. And he agrees with me on this, you all know this."

When a few of the Wardens nodded thoughtfully - though none of the mages did - Alistair stepped further forward. "So I ask you: can we both be lying to you? Is it so impossible to think that we are being used?" Pointing at Erimond, he thundered, "That man serves Corypheus, one of the very Magisters who brought the curse of the Blight upon the world! Grey Wardens fight the Blight! We do. Not. Serve it!

"Good lad," Loghain said, a proud smile coming to his lips.

A silence settled on the courtyard, and all those Wardens who were not mages turned to Clarel, obviously waiting to see what her response would be to Alistair's speech.

It was clear from the way she looked back and forth between Erimond and Alistair that his words had had an impact. Erimond took a step towards her. "Clarel, we have come so far. You're the only one who can do this!"

Still Clarel seemed uncertain, rubbing her forehead as she shifted on her feet. "Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges to avoid more bloodshed."

Cullen was watching Erimond, and saw the exact moment when the Magister decided that Clarel was a lost cause. "Be ready," he told Loghain softly, and the man nodded.

"Or perhaps," Erimond said, turning from Clarel and lifting his hands to the sky, "I should bring in a more reliable ally. My Master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!"

Suddenly a familiar roar echoed from the sky above, and a pitch black shadow with ragged wings appeared from the inky darkness. As Corypheus' dragon arced down and sent a blast towards Clarel, Cullen watched in astonishment. "Did that idiot just summon an Archdemon into a Keep full of Wardens?"

"It would appear so," Loghain said with a derisive snort. "Apparently he's given up on trying to convert the remaining Wardens to his side. It won't be hard to persuade those who remain to fight with us after this."

"If we survive long enough to talk with- Look out!" Cullen shoved Loghain to the ground just as the lyrium dragon settled onto the battlements above them and roared once more. The ledge upon which they stood trembled, then collapsed, and he wrapped his shield arm more tightly around Loghain as they began to slide down. "Brace yourself!" he yelled.

Their controlled tumble did get them down into the courtyard - and landed them right at the feet of a Pride demon. As they rose to their feet, Loghain barked orders to some nearby Wardens. After giving Loghain a startled glance after his abrupt appearance, a bulky Reaver and a dancing duelist ran to aid Cullen and Loghain against the monster, even as more demons appeared in the courtyard around them. By the time they'd dealt with that threat and a few shades and wraiths along with it, Dorian and the others had left in hot pursuit of Clarel and Erimond.

"Loghain!" one of the Wardens called as he ran over. "Is it true? Was that Magister in service to Corypheus all along?"

With a nod, Loghain made a sweeping gesture to the rift with his sword. "Look at what you wished to summon into this world," he said. "We are Wardens, sworn to protect Thedas! These may not be darkspawn, but that demon might as well be an archdemon. Stand against the Magister and his demons, and save those who you can!"

"Yes, Warden Loghain!" The warriors all gave Loghain a quick salute, even as Cullen chafed at the delay. "What do you want us to do?"

"Set a sentry here on the rift and make sure none tamper with it," Loghain ordered. "Then send the rogues out into Adamant to spread the word: we side with the Inquisition."

"Yes, Loghain!" the warrior said, and quickly they began to organize themselves.

Loghain turned to Cullen. "Let us proceed. You are right. I have a bad feeling about this, as well."

Cullen sent one last glance to the monstrosity on the other side of the rift, hackles rising. Erimond had clearly been hoping to use a mage of Clarel's calibre to summon whatever it was through the rift. Just because the ritual was interrupted didn't mean it couldn't be completed, should circumstances turn to favor Erimond. Perhaps all he needed was for Clarel to have a moment of vulnerability. On top of that, Erimond had Corypheus' pet dragon flying around the fortress, a danger that the Inquisition had no direct defense against.

And Dorian was in hot pursuit of both of Erimond and Clarel. If Erimond succeeded, Dorian would be in grave danger. And if the dragon decided to get up close and personal with the Inquisitor?

He turned to Loghain, face grim. His friend needed him. "Let's go."

He burst into a run as he surged up the stairs in pursuit of Dorian. Time, and that persistent nagging feeling of something is going to happen, pressed down on him relentlessly. Ignoring the hitch in his side and the growing fatigue in his limbs, Cullen pushed on, only dimly aware that Loghain matched him stride for stride.

As they ran, their surroundings blurred. The demons they fought, the way the very stones of the fortress trembled, and even the shadow of the dragon as it passed overhead - they weren't nearly as important as the distant figures ahead of them. Fate seemed to tease him, letting the group almost come within reach before throwing demons or Wardens at them. Even though the two men cut through their foes easily - or in the case of the Wardens on some occasions, avoided combat altogether when Loghain snapped them to attention - each delay increased Cullen's frustration until he could feel his teeth grinding as they raced up what he desperately hoped were the last stairs.

And skidded to a halt as he found himself contemplating the haunches of a dragon from an uncomfortably close distance.

His heart raced and his hand tightened around the grip of his sword as Cullen took in the situation. The dragon stood between himself and the others, wings beating slowly as it roared and gathered itself for an attack. Cullen cast about for any way around the dragon, but found none as it slithered forward. Setting his jaw, he raised his shield and charged at it from behind, hoping to distract it if nothing else.

A movement under the dragon caught his eye just before the sudden lightning burst which followed it. After that, things happened fairly quickly. The dragon screeched and thrashed as the attack shoved it upwards and over the edge of the battlements. The pit of Cullen's stomach dropped as he watched the thrashing leviathan drop off the precipice, claws dragging on the stone blocks before it disappeared from sight. Its actions tore at the foundations of the already ancient structure, and Cullen lurched once more into a run as the damage the dragon caused the ramparts to shift enough to send those upon it sliding towards the precipice.

Ignoring the groaning Magister and Clarel's still form, Cullen fixed his gaze on the people in immediate danger. They were doing their best to run away from the worst of the damage, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw Dorian stop and run back to pull Alistair from the brink. A noble gesture, to be sure, but it was enough to seal his fate, since the motion to heave Alistair forward was enough to make Dorian's foot slip beneath him.

As Dorian flailed for a handhold, Cullen broke into a run, dead-end drop at the end or not. Abandoning his shield completely, he held on to his sword only so that he could use it to halt his precipitous plunge. He jammed it between two stones just before reaching the edge, holding onto the hilt with one hand while his other reached out to latch onto Dorian's wrist just before the man plummeted to his doom. The desperate act left Cullen half hanging off a jagged line of rock with Dorian dangling below, but-at least for the moment-they were stable, if not safe. The ramparts shifted a little more beneath them, then subsided into stillness once more.

Dorian's eyes widened as he looked up. "Cullen! What are you doing here?"

Dimly, Cullen realized it was the first time the mage had called him by his name, but the thought was quickly pushed away. "Trying to… rescue you, of course," he grated through clenched teeth as he yanked himself fully onto the stone surface, then pulled Dorian higher with all his strength. He was dimly aware that the others were engaged in their own scramble for safety, but his only priority at the moment was the man holding his hand.

When he felt Dorian's free arm snake around his neck, Cullen released an explosive breath and quickly shifted his arm down to snag the other man's waist for better leverage. As he pushed himself slowly to his knees, he craned his neck to look at Dorian, whose face was now inches away, and smiled. "There you are."

"Quite the daring rescue, Commander," Dorian said a trifle breathlessly.

"I made a promise, remember?" Cullen told him, though his own voice was a bit strained. This close, he could feel Dorian's fast, shallow breaths against his lips, and found himself licking his own in reaction. Forcing his mind to the task at hand, Cullen kept his fingers tightly clenched around his sword's hilt, using it for stability as he heaved them back from the edge. They ended up in a tangled heap of limbs with Dorian on top, and Cullen let his head fall back onto the stones of the rampart with an explosive sigh of relief. Releasing the hilt at last, he embraced Dorian with both arms and held him close. "Don't worry, I've got you."

Dorian, arm still wrapped around Cullen's neck, gripped Cullen's fur mantle as he took a shuddering breath and buried his face in Cullen's other shoulder. "Thank you. Just… give me a moment. My heart is still pounding."

"Take all the time you need," Cullen told him, fighting the urge to bury his nose in the musky scent lingering in Dorian's hair. Instead, he turned his head to look for the others, praying that they were all safe.

What he saw made his eyes widen. Bull hung from the edge of the ramparts, held in place both by his death grip on some flagstones and the aid of Alistair and Loghain, who had each grabbed a hold of one of Bull's arms to keep him from sliding further. Varric had somehow managed to grab Bull by the horns before falling, but he dangled down Bull's back without any leverage available to pull himself up in a way that wouldn't risk them all. Shifting his gaze down, Cullen saw Solas clinging to one of Bull's calves and Hawke's arms wrapped firmly around the thigh of Bull's other leg. All in all, it looked more than a bit precarious.

"Sweet Maker," Cullen breathed.

"A little help, please?" Alistair grunted in a strained voice.

"Be right there," Cullen said as he scrambled to pull himself and Dorian to their feet. Even as they rushed towards the others, however, a sharp crack reverberated through the stone beneath them.

"Well, shit," Varric and Hawke groaned in an unforced chorus.

The rampart upon which their lives depended broke away with a ponderous slowness from the rest of Adamant, a fall which accelerated with every second. Bull struggled to maintain his hold, but the stones were breaking apart faster than he could find a new one. As the remnants of the ramparts toppled towards the ground far below, Cullen and Dorian lost their footing and succumbed to the forces of nature along with the others. Though Cullen tried to hold on to Dorian as long as he could, the rough motion and abrupt free fall drove the two men apart.

Yet even as Cullen reached towards Dorian in desperation, he saw a calmness fall over the mage which differed from that of a man who had accepted death. Face a mask of concentration, Dorian extended his left hand with fingers spread wide. A flash of green light burst forth, heralding the awakening of the Anchor as Dorian swept his hand in a wide circular motion.

When the large expanse of a green rift not unlike the Breach flickered into being just below them, Cullen had just enough time to gasp in wonder before he entered it.

After that, there was only darkness.

[1] This is in reference to my (unwritten) AU of the Dragon Age comics written by David Gaider (The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak, and Until We Sleep) wherein Alistair travels with Isabela and Varric on a quest to find his father, King Maric. In this world state, Warden Alistair and Warden Loghain both go with Isabela and Varric on the same quest. Since Alistair's quest is mentioned by Warden Alistair in the game, it is canon for Alistair to go looking for his father regardless of whether he is Warden or King. Therefore, I have incorporated it into my story.